


won't you lay with me

by r1ker



Category: Agent Carter (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-26
Updated: 2016-05-26
Packaged: 2018-07-10 10:19:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,030
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6980221
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/r1ker/pseuds/r1ker





	won't you lay with me

Daniel knows it's a mistake the second Jack's doctors suggest sending him back to the same apartment he was almost murdered in. Not only is the crime scene tape still up, parts of the master bedroom in a bit of a bloody ruin in places, but Daniel knows it's wrong for all the emotional reasons. For one Jack can barely remember what happened (Daniel remembers him pleading with the investigators brought in to look into the attempt on his life, insisting that the only thing he could recall was blacking out for far too long).

 

So, Daniel concludes, it'd be a damn nightmare to go to sleep each night in a room where someone tried to kill you and for a second you couldn't imagine why.

 

He proposes an alternate plan. Not one for being outward as to his intentions he waits until Jack can't stand it anymore, and on his third night home from the hospital, he gives Daniel a call.

 

There's very little noise on Jack's end of the phone line save for his labored breathing. He had just slipped off to sleep on his couch only to be awoken minutes later by a paralyzing dream of it all happening again, this time seeing a face behind the barrel of a gun, but not being able to recall it as he sat up much too fast on his couch in shock.

 

Jack had barely remembered Daniel's number until it came back to him in chunks, on the line with the operator at first so she could patch him through. She had been very patient with him feeding her numbers here and there until it became clear the one that came together was one belonging to Daniel Sousa. He had almost let out the breath he was holding as a sigh of relief once Daniel greeted him.

 

"Sousa," Jack sighs against the receiver of the phone. He starts to feel embarrassed now, nausea and panic making his stomach ache, and the phone's cradle is just close enough to allow him to end this call and blame it on a misunderstanding later on. If he does, another part of his brain, perhaps the one that's been the cause of the reasoning he's had as to his unfettered trust in Sousa, advises against it.

 

"Jack? What's wrong?" Daniel asks as if he doesn't know it already. He knows all too well that overpowering sensation letting him falsely know death was near. So he recalls what he'd done in those days after coming back from overseas, after doctors and therapists had warned him not to spend too much time recuperating all by his lonesome. Well, he did, but he made it a point to get out of his hole once a day.

 

For weeks he took to the streets of his neighborhood with uneasy, awkward steps as he began to get accustomed to his prosthesis. This turned to letting the sun shine on his face long enough to remind him that it's better this than the vile soil of a German graveyard like so many others he served alongside ended up in. It had ended up doing him a lot of good and he only found himself in mental pits very, very sparingly.

 

Jack won't step outside in this dark night, in this neighborhood potentially harboring an enemy still keeping him well within their crosshairs in the hopes of finishing the job once and for all. He does not respond to Daniel's question for lack of a better word as to explain why the hell his head is filled with pointless static. Swallowing doesn't work and his throat soon aches with angry tears, wringing at his red eyes with an unsteady fist. There's a shudder of a sigh and he pulls himself back together just long enough to grit out, "I can't do this, I…come over. Please. I'll pay for the cab if you just get over here."

 

Daniel is already in the mudroom of his apartment, gathering shoes, a cap, and his wallet and room key. The phone has been abandoned in the room and he works as quickly as he can to get back to let Jack know he's on his way. Soon he does, and with a swift promise that he was already out the door, he hangs up.

 

There's a cab circling the neighborhood in search of customers needing a safe ferry back to their homes following a night out on the town on this evening in February. Daniel flags one down and remembers much how like Jack did with Daniel's phone number for the man's address. It's not far in distance in relation to Daniel's apartment but not justifiable to walk.

 

When the cab pulls up Daniel lets out a noise of relief when it's apparent Jack hasn't shut himself away entirely; one lamp glows in the window but the rest of the building is shrouded in the darkness of the late night. He thanks the driver and pays for his service. A moment is spent in attentive contemplation of the surroundings of Jack's neighborhood, and he steps into the foyer, requesting Jack's room number with a press to a cracked white button.

 

The all clear is given to him to come up and he chooses the arduous wait for the service elevator over the stairs. Climbing into the elevator he begins to form a strategy plan. His watch says it's almost midnight, so Jack's long since eaten dinner. Maybe he hasn't and Daniel's got to get something into him that won't make the nausea brought on by anxiety spike high enough to create a problem. Trivial aspects of his night aside he wants to first make sure that Jack's not wanting anything drastic to happen to himself on account of that survivor guilt anyone nearly maimed by another can tend to have.

 

Daniel gets to his door and only has to knock twice before Jack answers, and my God, the man's a mess. He regards Daniel with an incredulous gaze, eyes glazed and reddening enough to make the blue far too brilliant for the circumstances. Daniel can hear him breathing over the mutual silence. So, knowing this is going one way in particular and it's most certainly not up, he steps forward and wraps his arms around Jack's shoulders, leaving plenty of space between their chests, mindful of the injury.

 

Jack releases a tremendous shudder. His hands rest high on Daniel's shoulders and slide mindlessly over his tweed sports coat. Where his face is allows him to look over into the hallway outside, nose just against Daniel to breathe in his cologne, and his poorly formed façade shatters entirely. The noise that leaves his parted mouth sounds awful, the cry of an animal rendered hopeless by an unbearable injury.

 

He braces himself for a response to this not unlike awkward tension but to his blessed surprise Daniel does nothing retaliatory. Instead he holds Jack close, firm and unyielding in that he doesn't move away no matter how hard Jack's sobs pick up in intensity. He wishes he could stop crying, get mad like men in his lives would do when someone came after them, but it was closer to death than he had ever bargained for in being a detective.

 

But Daniel knows it all too well, the feeling of being attacked and forced to retreat in the hopes that recovery would be swift and without any unnecessary emotion ( _you can be sad, and you can be angry,_ the Sister on-call in the hospital chapel had come in on the fourth day after surgery speaking of). He didn't want to be either, he wanted to go out and find the coward that didn't think it proper to show Jack their face before they shot him in the back, but now he can't help but succumb to those two feelings the sister, in her infinite wisdom, had referenced.

 

"Step back so we can get inside," he says quietly close to Jack's ear. Jack obeys and lets Daniel go long enough so the two of them may go inside to the sitting room, the front door shutting quietly behind them. Daniel, on his way with Jack inside, grabs a hand towel from the high counter in the kitchen. He sits Jack down on the couch and kneels carefully between his legs, a hand braced on Jack's knee, the other gripping the towel.

 

"Dry your face," he instructs and Jack takes it away from him, drags it across his wet cheeks before throwing it to the side in annoyance. Daniel looks him over and considers standing up long enough to slip away to the kitchen in the hopes of getting Jack a glass of water but when he tries to, he's stopped. One of Jack's shaking hands grips onto his wrist, silently urging him to stay.

 

Jack stops himself a few times before he gets out what he really wants Daniel to do, the two of them now alone in this apartment. "Please stay with me. Please, just…stay right here." Daniel does. He nudges Jack on the shoulder to get him to scoot over and the two sit on the couch in silence. In this time Jack's tears thankfully dry. He settles into his seat knowing there won't be much of a conflict with a fellow detective here now.

 

Daniel relaxes further back into the couch and lets his arms spread, one on the armrest and the other along the back. He can tell just looking at Jack hunched over, face buried in his hands, that there's no way he's settling back down without some sort of outside influence. His hand, stretching behind Jack, pats twice against the headrest.

 

"Lay down, it's getting late," he requests and Jack instantly falters. The last time he'd lain on the couch like this, prone out of the desire to sleep away all he couldn't seem to escape awake, it was unbearable. But then again that part of his brain he's got to pride in making all the right decisions in this situation urges him to do otherwise and he slowly does. The crown of his head rests up against the side of Daniel's thigh. "Since you can't go to sleep on your own devices I'll do this the best way I know how. Talk you to sleep instead."

 

After a while of droning on about how he'd gotten into the service, when he'd first heard of Steve Rogers and even contemplated signing up for Erskine's project himself then had a buddy lie to him about the rejected super soldiers held somewhere in Weehawken in shame, he'd reneged. The entire time Jack blinks slowly at the ceiling, his focus shifting nearby to capture the soft, low tone of Daniel's voice as he speaks. "I got one day off somewhere in Paris and nearly took down a kitchenware shop all by myself. That's right, became a bull, almost knocked over an entire display of rare dessert plates with my gun holster. I learned words in the French language that little book they give you before you deploy could ever teach me."

 

Jack makes a small noise that accompanies Daniel's amused huff of a laugh. Soon he's just getting ready to go to sleep, the urge to give into his drooping eyelids at an absolute high, when he feels one of Daniel's hands nestle in his hair. Back and forth it begins to move, letting strands settle between his fingers, the tips pressing lightly at Jack's scalp. "And I went to Germany, let one of them take my leg off and now, here we are…" He looks down and sees Jack long gone, decides to let the pillow talk end on this note. His hand leaves Jack's hair and he gently eases Jack further high on the couch so that he may finally get the sleep he's been deprived of while not in Daniel's comforting presence.

 

Daniel sits with his back against the couch and looks up all the while, listening to Jack breathe, watching his eyes flicker shut, staying with him like he had always promised to without really letting him know.


End file.
